Hunter
by L H Matthews
Summary: James Carnegie thoguht his life was perfectly ordinary until the death of his father and he finds secrets he never wouldve imagined about a world that had been 'off limits' all his life...


Those were the Days

Marsh Wood had always been strange, a little quirky curiosity nestled amongst the dark hills at the foot of the expansive Pennine Moor Estate. There were few shops, one school split into two with the infant school located in the heart of the village and the junior school sitting in the shadow of Pule Hill. The village centre was always busy despite the fact it had little going on the people of Marsh Wood were always hurrying along, impatient and busy to get to where they were going. The older villagers often spent most of their day just 'being' in the village stopping and talking to anyone they could, and more importantly anyone who would actually listen. Since the three large mills had closed the centre of the village had evolved and Peel Street was now lined with bustling wine bars and ice cream parlours like Sundaes, and not a single useful shop in sight!

In the fading light of the afternoon cars were rumbling along Brougham Road and the village was starting to fill up with harassed parents and grandparents on the school run.

When the road becomes crowded and jumbled with mums and kids the thundering noise of din and chatter is unbearable for 19 year old James Carnegie and he is often forced to leave his bedroom situated at the front of the house. Setting off with his laptop he heads for the garden and locks his shed at the very bottom of the garden of number 12 Brougham Road.

The shed was the old summer house and had two large windows either side of the door and was made of timber brightest oak orange. James fished the key out of his bag pocket with his laptop shoved under his arm he awkwardly undid the tiny padlock. Shuffling in quickly and he placed his laptop down on the bench.

James was typing furiously away at his laptop enjoying the solitude and peace the shed gave him.

'" And in the midst of the deepening crisis Lieutenant Phelps had little choice but to plunge the ship into full throttle and shaking with uncontrollable fear the first mate Granger clung onto the ship wheel closing his eyes tightly as if awaiting an onslaught…'"

James stopped typing and cursing hit the backspace button. He sighed and crossing his arms leant forward slumping onto his desk. His free hand slammed the laptop shut and his glasses fells askew across his face as his arms slouched together and his head fell. For nearly a whole week he had struggled to move any of his characters forward. The assignment was due in one week.

The problem wasn't James' imagination it was the small matter of distractions. Not just the noisy bustling school runs but James struggled to concentrate, to even finish a piece of homework on time. In his own mind he considered himself brilliant, creative and dynamic. The reality of it was always somewhat different. His best friend Danny Hicklin always got it right, he was pedantic, precise and a bit of a clever dick. If it hadn't been for Danny and his enthusiasm to get into University James doubted it would ever have crossed his own mind.

Marsh Wood was comfortable. The moors loomed high above the fresh green hills were sloping jaggedly across the landscape dotted with low moorland sheep grazing along the dry stone walls weaving down the valley side. The rows of tall terrace houses ran up the side and their tall chimney stacks rose harshly against the lightly coloured sky. James was allowing his mind to wander when there was a knock on the garden shed door.

'James is you in there?' Mrs Carnegie snapped rapping sharply on the door. James groggily stirred crossing the two short paces to the door and unlatched it.

'I know you need time to study but your Gran is popping in later and I could really use you back in the house?' She pleaded; she had 4 year old Christa quite literally hanging off her apron strings.

'Whys Gran coming round'

'She wants to discuss things about-,' Mrs Carnegie paused tearing her eyes away from James and the smell of the oil and dirty dishwater filling her nostrils. Her eyes fell on the small lopsided wooden shelf hanging awkwardly holding a collection of dusty tools and books. 'You really should get rid of those things Jim,'

James looked up at the shelf, and slightly aggrieved replied

'Why?'

'Well,' she said exasperated 'you aren't going to use them and-'

'They aren't doing any harm,' James said simply, Christa had now climbed up on his lap and was trying to make a grab for his glasses. Her small pale hands were covered in mud and what else James could only imagine. She wiped her hands together with glee only making more of a mess before James realised she had smeared his shirt he was that involved with his mothers' penetrating stare.

'But out with the old, that's what I need your help with,' And Mrs Carnegie leant over and grabbed Christa, taking a handkerchief from her pocket she wiped Christa's hands and placed the dirty hanky neatly back in her apron pocket.

'I need help with getting through all your old stuff. A new charity shop has opened in the village and it would be good to help others,'

'Alright,' James said slowly and his eyes lingered around the shed 'but at least let _me_ go through dads stuff,'

Mrs Carnegie stiffened her tight hold on Christa and rolling her eyes silently agreed. James looked again at the collection of his dads tools strewn across the wobbly shelf.

'Well there's lemonade in the kitchen when you're done here,' she said softly 'Aunt Melanie dropped off the latest batch this afternoon before she went for Caitlin,'

James was left alone, he turned back to his closed down laptop and flicking it back on he saved his work and made his way out of the shed with his laptop tucked under his arm.

Number 12 Brougham Road was a long through light terrace with three large rooms upstairs and James' room was at the front overlooking the crowded narrow road. From his window he could see and hear everything. Until recently he had been in the back room away from the noise but recent events had caused a necessary upheaval in their living situation.

**_Christmas 2003_**

Mr Andrew Carnegie had done the buttons up on his daughters Lion King pyjamas smoothing out the creases as he placed her gently down against the Eiderdown and tucked her in he smiled. His lips pressed firmly against her forehead and he squeezed her hand.

Andrew then quietly crossed the room avoiding the one creaky floorboard and shut out the light. That was the last time Andrew Carnegie closed his daughter's bedroom door.

James now stood his hand hovering above the brass doorknob. His breath caught in his throat and the tiny bones in his hand cracked as his muscles tensed around the smooth curve of the polished brass. With a small clunk click the door to his dads study swung open.

The afternoon light drifted in through the French windows bypassing the tatty paisley curtains that had been hung in the same place for almost 15 years when Andrew Carnegie had first moved into number 12 Brougham Road with his young family. James had been in here once or twice since his father had passed away and each time James hoped it would get easier but running his hands over his father's desk he knew things would never be as normal as they once were.


End file.
